Searching for a Clouded Mind
by Hypersigils
Summary: A short, open-ended narrative from several places in the middle of Gemini of the Meteor. K  for very slight language. An examination of Hei's feelings toward his drinking problem, and why he seeks solace in liquor. May or may not be continued.


It was cold in the small shack: Hei knew that much. It was a bitter, aching cold he could feel seeping the warmth from his extremities. The girl walked in and shouted something at him half-angrily, then dumped some wood on the guttering fire. he could see from the set of her jaw she was irritated but cautious, a balance she always kept around him. A balance he strove to create; he found her training to be easier that way. If she said anything of value, he didn't hear it- only a fraction of his attention was given willingly to her. Still, her words weren't noteworthy enough to catch his subconscious, and so he dismissed them. Had he wanted to, he could have inferred her speech - an outcry over his appearance, no doubt, or a complaint of how much he drank - but his mind was elsewhere.

He'd been trained by necessity to have several "programs" running through his mind… at this moment still, they ran without conscious effort. He was cataloguing their temporary home, memorizing and checking its features, he was running predictions on the future, planning for his next job… all near effortlessly.

As a consequence, his mind was free to dwell on other things.

He sighed inwardly, longing for the release of life-and-death action, where all thought became instinctual and internalized, where his mind could settle on blankness, perfect and poised. He missed the kind of release it brought him from his broodings.

Still, he couldn't well return to the kind of life he'd led before, not completely at least. Some damnable scientific device had stolen his electric Contractor power. The end result: his combat efficiency nearly halved and power reduced significantly. All this was perfectly reasoned, perfectly logical, but it still rang of cowardice and fear. Hei hated himself for it.

Besides, the reasoning continued, hadn't he lost his own pair of watchful eyes? Where now was the doll who had saved him so many times before? Almost by reflex, his arm raised and his mouth swallowed.

The burning liquid coursed down his throat and set a flame in his belly, seeming to warm him from the inside. He knew better than to believe it, though: he knew the blood was even now draining from his extremities, increasing his chances of freezing. The girl interjected with several choice words about his constant drinking, but he didn't really listen to them.

It wasn't the heat, though, that Hei drank the tasteless liquor for. It was to attain that clouded mind the strain of battle gave him. It was to be free from his painful thoughts and memories. He gritted his teeth. He hadn't been this weak before everything had changed…

He noticed his reflection in a puddle of water, fed by a slow drip coming from the ceiling. Weak, he cursed himself once more. A soldier should keep himself tidy, he knew, but more than that his appearance decried his slipping control. He began to rise, intending to shave himself and cut his hair (operations he'd long ago learned to do with his knife), but his mind began to ponder the other ramifications water held…

Hei found he suddenly needed another few drinks.

It was a few minutes more before he could muster enough energy to do anything, but finally he stood and walked out of the shack, only to face the gray Russian day that uncaringly continued without his involvement. Abruptly, he felt a great desire to throw the empty bottle far away, or to run as fast as he could, to garb himself in his gear and dash away…

but the impulse faded quickly, and the bottle slipped from his raised hand to shatter against the ground. For a moment, he indulged himself in believing the gravel he stood on turned to sand and a silver-haired girl softly held his hand… but a passing train rattled the ocean and the sand crunched under his feet like rocks. That was one drawback of liquor, he knew full well. Though it clouded the mind, it made daydreams more real.

He waited for the waves to return, but they didn't. After a few more moments, he turned to the shack that was at times a beach hotel and at others a cigarette shop. For now, it was only a fabricated shed made from torn and uprooted metal.

He thought it fitting.

It was at least two in the morning when he woke up gasping for air. He quickly took stock of his surroundings, saw that they were the same as they'd been when he had gone to sleep, and slowly sank back. The image of Yin being sealed away in that obscene coffin slowly faded, but still lurked dark enough to menace him from the corner of his eye. In the bed next to him, the girl slept quietly, undisturbed by Hei's nightmare.

Hei longed to pour that fiery liquor down his throat, but knew he would lose all the girl's respect for him if he did. He supposed he saw a bit of himself in her: that untested but adamant personality thrown into a war it had little stake in… but more than he cared for her opinion, he knew he had to regain at least some self-control.

Still, he shuddered, these nightmares were getting worse. At least the alcohol had lent him a quick escape after waking; now he was left with only his mind and memories.

And Yin.

Here, in the darkness, he could admit that she was the reason for his self-torture. She was a valued companion, he knew. And he knew she was more than that. She was a prime example of the evolution of dolls. Besides… he knew he felt something akin to friendship for her. It was a new emotion, this feeling of mutual trust, and he still didn't fully understand it.

And hadn't he made a promise?

Hei sat bolt upright, then practically raced to his clothes, dressed, and left the motel room. Perhaps fresh air would do him good. Perhaps he could run from this interminable darkness of thought and mood.

As he walked, he waited for a girl to turn to him with a child in her arms and look at him with wonder.


End file.
